


Scones and Skants

by almaasi



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Cloaca, Clothed Sex, Episode: s05e15 By Inferno's Light, Episode: s05e16 Doctor Bashir I Presume, Fingering, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Illustrated, Julian in a Skant, M/M, Picnics, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Skant, Smut, Sub Elim Garak, and, and Garak thinks it’s an attempt at seduction?, set between:, skants, what’s the name of the trope where Julian does something obliviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25964296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: “Doctor, had I known this would be the tone of today’s luncheon, I’d have worn a lower collar for the occasion...”Julian finds the skimpiest skant in Garak’s shop and sneaks it back to his quarters to try on. He then runs out of clean clothes and is forced to wear the skant in public.In a special corner of DS9 usually reserved for stargazing lovers, Julian and Garak share a jam-and-cream-scone picnic - and Garak finds himself enjoying a view far more enrapturing than the stars, and treats far sweeter than any dessert...
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 25
Kudos: 249





	Scones and Skants

**Author's Note:**

> The scone debate in this fic is based on a discussion DHW and I had. Fic inspired by the fact that seemingly [every single one of my Garashir-writing friends has written a skant fic at this point](https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Skant%20Uniform/works) and I was missing out! I’ve wanted to write one for months, and here one finally is.
> 
> Fic beta’d by Arinaca and anupalya ♥ That quote in the summary is by anupalya as well!
> 
> P.S. Thank you to everyone who tuned in to watch “Little Achievements” performed live by Sid and Andy! I’ll be posting the script, the fic the script was based on, and the embedded video [here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/) once it’s all ready.  
> Edit: [That's up now~ Click to increase joy.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073979)

Julian felt like a walking jamboree at a funeral now, still sporting turquoise shoulders while everyone else had their sombre grey jackets.

The rest of his friends – the entire Starfleet population of DS9, in fact – had had their new uniforms implemented some weeks ago. Julian was the last to visit Garak’s Clothiers to place his order.

Circumstances obviously weren’t ideal. Garak had just lost his father, and that loss made an impact regardless of how abusive and estranged that father was. So the bitter mutterings and occasional gripe coming from the back end of the tailor’s shop were to be expected and excused with grace.

“There’s no rush, Garak,” Julian said gently, barely peeking up as he searched through the racks of clothes, touching each texture as he went. “Take your time. You have all my measurements already, so at least you’re not working from scatch.”

“I dread to _imagine_ how the Changeling impersonated you so well,” Garak uttered, turning over a wide roll of black gabardine on his cutting desk and sending a rush of thread snips to the carpet. “Perhaps he gained access to _my_ notes on you and matched your sizing. The new uniform fit him like a glove.”

“It’s really not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Garak harrumphed, turning the fabric over twice more in a fluster, then yanking it straight. “Being a secret agent requires more than passing unnoticed, Doctor; it requires one to notice _others_ when they are trying to pass unnoticed.”

“ _Nobody_ caught on,” Julian said, trying to sound supportive while the same words broke his heart. “Not one person noticed that the Julian Bashir hanging around here for the last month wasn’t me. He was nicer, I’ve heard.” He gulped. “‘ _Easier to get along with_ ’.”

Hearing the sourness in his own voice, he turned his head away and stared at a rack of colour-coded Starfleet uniforms. None of the jumpsuits would come anywhere close to fitting him. He was far too lean.

“Suffice to say, Doctor,” Garak said softly, drawing Julian’s attention, although Julian didn’t look up, “the infiltrator may have matched your physical dimensions to the millimetre, but he certainly didn’t match up as a whole. I’m angry, yes; angry that I _did_ catch on – and _dismissed_ my observations.”

“Oh?” Julian’s skin prickled, and he turned his head to look at his friend across the brown-shadowed shop and all its clothing display racks and tables. “Do tell.”

Garak sighed. “He _was_ ‘easier to get along with’. _Too_ easy. He was amiable no matter what I said to him. I really began to miss our bickering. However, I only thought... perhaps... my closeness with Ziyal had... ruined...”

Garak’s breath shook and he ceased to speak. Head down, eyes down. Then came a frown.

Julian smirked. “So I’m not _me_ unless I’m disagreeing with you, is that right?”

“Quite right.”

“You’ve yet to pick a fight with me today.”

“Oh, the night is young.”

“What say we pick a subject and see how easy I am to get along with _then_ , hmm?” Julian smirked. “The Changeling might’ve been better at everything than I am but I doubt he could counter your every word with as much vitriol as I can.”

“I don’t doubt it!” Garak seemed mildly cheered up. “What shall we argue about? Your sub-par taste in literature? Your absolute inability to separate work and pleasure? Your _appalling_ sense of fashion, off-duty?”

“Hey— _Hey_! _Ga_ rak! Look, I said we could _argue_ , I didn’t say you could poke holes in my entire personality. How about we discuss your, frankly, _unexplainable_ relationship with _Ziyal_. What is she, twelve? And what are you, a hundred?”

“Ah...” Garak relaxed. “There’s the Julian I know. All is right with the world.”

Julian snorted, turning his back on the Cardassian and glaring at the racks of uniforms. “ _Your_ world, maybe.”

“Ziyal and I...” Garak’s tone was warm and friendly now. “We’re nothing more worrisome than platonic friends, Doctor.”

“I saw her kiss you!”

“It’s very hard to deter her, I’m afraid. She may have been raised apart from Cardassians, and divorced from our culture, but Cardassians by nature are _forceful_ perpetuators of family lines, and some traits, some... preferences...”

Julian bristled. “Finish that sentence. I dare you.”

Garak chuckled. “A rebuff on my part would be interpreted as an invitation. I believe you know enough about Cardassians to recognise this, Doctor. There are certain... behaviours, actions, which to Humans would seem normal – the refusal of an unwelcome advance, for example – which—”

“Which to Cardassians signals a desire for more.” Julian rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the uniforms on the racks. He let his ire simmer away, soothed by the thought that Garak hadn’t gone completely mad in his absence. “Look, you’re good at finding the right words for any given situation, Garak. If I were you, I’d sit her down and say them.”

“Indeed. Perhaps over lunch...”

“Hhh. I’m sure the fact you keep _dining_ with her isn’t helping.”

“He knew all your usual luncheon choices, by the way,” Garak said. “The Changeling.”

Julian’s eyes lowered, overcome by sadness.

“Your favourite tea.” Garak sounded just as dismayed. “Your breakfast order, as well.”

Julian’s stomach churned. And then it churned again as he wondered...

“Garak... Did you have... _breakfast_... with him?”

Perhaps he was thinking too deeply about the implication...

“Only once,” Garak said. “We ran into each other by chance in the Replimat. He ordered scones with moba jam.”

Julian felt chills of relief, knowing Garak hadn’t advanced beyond flirting with the other Bashir. Changeling trickery aside, perhaps Julian ought not be so possessive. He and Garak argued openly, but Garak had never given any indication he wanted the relationship to progress beyond flirtation.

“He... put the jam on... first,” Garak realised. His tone was distant, and he sounded shaken. “Oh, what a fool I’ve been, these last weeks...”

“Yes,” Julian said. “But it’s not limited to the last weeks, I’ll tell you that much.”

Garak laughed. Julian smirked, facing away so Garak didn’t see how glad he was to hear Garak letting go of a little more stress.

The jumpsuits hanging up before him were _all_ too big for him. But there were some skants which looked like they might fit his width, if not his height. They looked like mini dresses: thigh-length, black down the sides with the Starfleet department colours in a thick stripe down the middle. He’d seen a few people wearing them around over the years. They weren’t a popular option. Unpopular enough, in fact, that he’d never considered trying one on, sure they’d make him stand out. All he ever wanted was to blend in, after all.

He stroked the thick fabric between thumb and fingers, feeling a slight stretch. The coloured stripe down the middle of this one was the old-style gold: Garak was apparently trying to sell off his old stock at a discount, hence the overloaded rack.

“I told the impostor,” Garak said, “that I was glad he’d seen sense.”

“Sense?” Julian flipped back through the skants to see if there was an especially narrow one in turquoise.

“It always struck me as more sensible to put the jam on first.”

Julian huffed. “You can’t put the jam on first. The butter needs to soak in while the scone is still hot.”

“Ah, but with whipped cream, Doctor, it’s another story.”

“Cream?”

“He put cream on his scone. Although to call it a ‘scone’ is quite the fallacy. They are _biscuits_.”

“For God’s sake, not this again. Biscuits are _cookies_. A scone is closer to a cake.”

“And thus hardly a nourishing food for breakfast.”

“It’s pure fuel! Nothing wrong with fuel.”

“Except when one puts the dairy product on first.”

“Garak...”

“You asked for an argument, Doctor.”

“Yes, but about something meaningful.”

“I’m... tired, Doctor. Not of _you_ ; of course not; never of you.” Garak sighed. “But after the events of the last few days and weeks... I am so terribly weary. Forgive the sentiment, but I do enjoy a meaningless squabble every so often. Soothes my nerves.”

Julian chuckled, slipping a skimpy little skant off the back hanger. “Alright. But the butter goes on first.”

“Jam first!”

“You don’t even like moba jam.”

“Replicated jam, perhaps. But there is some _genuine_ moba jam I’ve been saving... Perhaps for a special occasion...”

Julian folded the skant over an arm, turning to peer across the shop in intrigue. His brain said ‘ _He was saving it for breakfast the first morning you wake up together, the sweetheart_ ’, but his mouth said, “Oh, alright, you selfish prick; when were you going to share _that_?!”

Garak tutted. “If I’ve learned anything from our time in a Dominion prison camp, Doctor, it’s that special occasions ought to be celebrated when any chance presents itself, rather than at some idyllic time that may never come to pass. Moments must be seized, as our time together may be... fleeting.”

“And?”

“And we may as well enjoy the jam. Dine with me, Doctor, and we’ll put to the test which combination of butter, cream, and jam works best in what order.”

“Now?”

“Obviously not now! I have a uniform to make,” Garak said testily. “The rest of your traits do put your poor observational skills to shame, don’t they.”

“Careful. That was almost a compliment.”

“I assure you it was meant as an insult. Now, I thank you for the debate, Doctor, but unfortunately I do have work to be doing and you are _extremely_ distracting.”

“Are you _sure_ you’re not trying to compliment me?”

“Very sure.”

“I can’t stay for a minute and try some things on?”

Garak looked up from his fabric pieces in dismay. “And have you ransack my entire shop apparently looking for items that look hideous on your figure? Certainly not. You are hereby banished, Doctor. I’ll contact you once your uniforms are ready.”

Julian glanced down at the skant he’d picked out. He did want to try it on... Quite badly, actually...

“Can I try on _one_ thing?”

“Get _out_ , Doctor, before I really insult you.”

Julian smiled. “Well, that was a bit honest of you. You seriously are tired.”

“Oh, exhausted.”

Julian offered a kind look across the shop while he folded up the skant into a tiny rectangle. “Get some rest, Garak. Even at the expense of my new uniform.”

“Hm.” Garak began cutting through the gabardine, focused now. “I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch, Doctor.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Garak.”

“A fantastically rare thing, a good night. But, hmm... I hope your night is precisely that, too.”

Sparkling with fondness, Julian left the shop with the skant tucked under his arm and hidden from Garak’s sight.

He’d try it on in private and bring it back. No big deal. He wasn’t _really_ stealing.

Besides, he wasn’t prepared for Garak to see him wearing it, especially since compliments or insults would be forthcoming and both would burn him with more emotion than he had the capacity for right now.

He was just curious.

Chances were he’d look ridiculous and end up sneaking the thing back to Garak’s shop and hiding it in a dark corner, too ashamed to admit he’d ever tried it on.

  
★  


Oh, no.

Oh, _no_.

Julian stood in front of the floor-length mirror leaning in the corner of his bedroom, deeply worried by his reflection.

The skant was a unisex item, certainly, but this particular one was definitely made for a petite person who was a little curvy in the hips. Although Julian lacked hip curves, the skant flared out and gave him some. Julian was indeed tiny of torso, but exceptionally long of leg, and...

And the problem was, he liked how it looked.

He liked that it only just covered his bottom. He liked that it gave him a bit _more_ bottom. He liked that being unencumbered by trousers made it effortless to move, although he’d never considered the barely-there resistance of fabric a hindrance before. Even the sparse, fluffy hair on his legs somehow looked cute like this.

Bare toes curled on the carpet. Fingers tugging down the hem...

He tried opening up his legs into a power stance, and thrilled at the way the skant wrinkled around his hips.

He hated to admit such things about himself, but he did look a bit sexy, didn’t he?

He ducked his head and looked down, then... slowly, curled his fingers around the hem and tugged it up, exposing his turquoise regulation underwear.

Hm. Much, _much_ easier to go to the bathroom. All these years he’d been peeling off his jumpsuit and holding swathes of fabric off the ground with one hand while trying to tend to his business with the other, and he could’ve just been pulling up a hem and thumbing down his waistband. One-handed!

Obviously his next thought was about how easy it would be to have sex while wearing this. And how fun.

Gosh, Garak would have an aneurysm if he could see Julian now, wouldn’t he; posing like a pretty model in a magazine, hand behind his hair, lips wet and parted, legs crossed at the calf...

As Garak would say: the outfit wasn’t complete without shoes.

Julian fetched his black wedge-heeled ankle boots and sat on the bed to do them up, enjoying for the moment how he could feel the bed’s soft fabric against the backs of his thighs. He felt awfully bare wearing this. Perhaps on someone a foot shorter, the length of the skant would’ve been fine – it would’ve come to mid-thigh and nobody would be able to see up it. But anyone looking at Julian – especially if they were sitting down – would get a very good view of his underwear.

And, again, he kind of liked it.

He paced around for a while in front of the mirror, grinning and biting his lip, then pretending to drop something and bending down to expose himself.

A blush heated his face, but he didn’t stop.

He squatted; he jumped up and down; he jogged on the spot. He sat on the bed, then leaned back and spread his legs, watching himself in the mirror the whole time.

After ten minutes he slipped his underwear to the floor and did it all again.

Maybe he’d sneak a little payment over the counter for Garak when Garak wasn’t looking. Julian had no intention of returning his new favourite outfit.

By all accounts, the Changeling who impersonated him had been... sweeter, smoother, no cleverer but more willing to demonstrate intelligence, yet more humble about it when he did. Perhaps he’d been sexier, too. More confident; more outgoing. A perfect Julian Bashir.

The real Julian could never wear a skant in public.

But, by God, could he pretend.

  
★  


Julian stared at his empty wardrobe.

“Bashir to Garak,” he said, holding his combadge in his hand.

A number of seconds passed.

“Bashir to _Garak_ ,” Julian repeated, firmer this time.

A slow and sleepy mumble came through the badge. “ _Mm? Whhh... What it is, my dear?_ ”

Julian sparkled from head to toe in reaction to – well, everything. Garak was clearly still in bed, woken only a moment ago. His voice was so warm and thick, and his _words_ were nothing but affectionate.

“I... ummm...”

“ _Hmmm, have I overslept?_ ” Garak wondered. “ _My word, I knew I was tired... but t’hh... to miss our luncheon is simply unheard of... I’m so very sorry, Doctor—_ ”

“Oh, Garak... Garak, no, it’s only oh-six-hundred. Don’t worry, I—”

“ _Oh-six— Oh-SIX? You mean to tell me that you’ve decided to wrench me from a perfectly lovely rest – and for what? What, pray, is_ so _important that it’s taken you this long to explain?_ ”

Julian again rushed with excitement, feeling a thrill from Garak’s frustration as involuntary and as pleasurable as his reaction to Garak’s tenderness. His breath caught twice, and he had to swallow.

“Um,” he said. “I was just wondering if – if maybe my uniforms were done. One of them, at least. A jumpsuit.”

“ _Huh! How long exactly do you think it takes me to_ make _new uniforms, Doctor?_ ”

“Well, I’ve seen you pull ballgowns together in less than a night.”

“ _Nights where I know for certain I won’t be woken up at oh – six – hUNDred! The majority of the new stock were imported, Doctor, and I’m not yet well-practised making these new kinds. I dare say it’ll happen faster if I’m rested._ ”

Julian laughed, head down. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Alright. Alright, I’ll let you get back to sleep, Garak. Sorry again.”

“ _You’re not sorry. A sorry man would offer services far more indulgent than simply allowing me to ‘get back to sleep’._ ”

Julian’s interest piqued. “Oh? What s-sort of... services?”

Silence.

Then: “ _Good_ night _, Doctor._ ”

“It’s the morning.”

“ _It most certainly is not. Garak out._ ”

Julian chuckled as the communication ended. But then his smile fell: his wardrobe remained empty. His turquoise-shouldered jumpsuits had been taken for recycling now that his new ones had officially been ordered. Under usual circumstances, one night’s turnaround was more than enough time for three uniforms to be made, but Garak was behind schedule since he’d taken time off to fly into the Gamma Quadrant and was captured there. And besides, the poor tailor’s fatigue was being telegraphed with more honesty than Julian would ever thought he’d see from him.

...He _was_ being very open, wasn’t he? First letting Julian know that Tain was his father, and now this...

Julian considered that he, Worf, and Martok might’ve returned to DS9 with a Changeling version of Garak by mistake. The same, but just a little different...

But Julian himself was different too. Being held as a prisoner of war would change anyone. Thinking he’d never see his friends again, then being rescued by his dearest companion would change anyone. Coming back to discover that his life had been lived in fuller ways by a better-than-perfect body double, who’d escaped the notice of all but a few friends who’d found the impostor ‘ _easier to get along with_ ’, would truly throw anyone’s perception of their own existence out of balance. For better or worse, Julian was different.

So Garak could be different too. Maybe he was simply tired of lying, as equally as he was tired of everything else.

Just as Julian was tired of hiding his own secrets.

Garak was right about the moba jam, and fleeting moments. Special occasions had to be seized, not waited for. Perhaps Julian and Garak were each ready to grow into themselves at long last. _Be_ honest. _Be_ open. Not wait for it all to be forced out at a bad time.

But Julian would pay extra attention to Garak in any case. One could never be too careful when there were Changelings about.

Julian closed his empty wardrobe.

And he turned for the hanger hooked over the bedroom door jamb.

“Looks like it’s either you or mufti,” Julian said, prying the skant off the hanger. “And I’m not about to get written up for improper uniform.”

He held the skant up against him, eyeing his reflection across the room.

Going by the length of the garment, however, he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t get written up anyway.

  
★  


Everyone was looking at his bottom. They had to be.

God, it was all he could think about. He walked down the Promenade in his ankle boots with bare, fluffy brown legs, taking measured steps, biting his lip...

The skant’s double-breasted front ended with an asymmetric hem, so a flap of turquoise fabric patted at his upper thigh with each step, but the garment was so _tight_ at the back that his bottom was basically on _display_.

Two buttocks! With wrinkles in the fabric bridging the two globes! The tiny jiggle at the nadir of each step! Legs legs legs. Skinny little thing in a tiny little cocktail dress, basically nude. Scandalous!

Probably hundreds of people stared. Eyes were everywhere. Self-consciousness burned in Julian’s shoulders and head, buzzing in his palms.

He reached behind him and tugged down the back hem, but in touching it, he realised it hadn’t ridden up at all. And touching it had drawn attention to its length.

He glanced around frantically, but didn’t see anyone looking.

At first he felt relief—

But then again, maybe nobody had _ever_ looked. Maybe people were just going about their usual business and nobody much cared to see the CMO strutting down the Promenade at six-thirty in the morning.

As desperate as he’d been _not_ to be seen like this, it did disappoint him that nobody had wolf-whistled, or given him a wanton glance, or dropped a box of sliced fruit or firm vegetables in his path in their astonishment at seeing someone so beautiful.

Maybe he wasn’t as attractive in this outfit as he’d thought.

Damn.

Saddened _and_ uncomfortable, Julian entered the Infirmary and offered a flat smile to Nurse Jabara.

She gave his outfit a glance over, then asked, “Is your new uniform not done yet?”

The last hope in Julian’s heart sank to his stomach and huddled into a cold shadow. Everyone knew him as someone unadventurous. Set in his ways. Someone who’d only wear a skant if he had no other option.

Well, it was true, but oh, how very miserable.

He shook his head.

Jabara gave him a plain smile and turned away, starting to explain the status of all the overnight tests she’d run. Julian sighed and slumped after her in his usual long strides, not caring to keep his steps modest anymore.

Not one compliment.

Not even _one_.

  
★  


Usually Julian liked to sit with his feet up on the chair while he worked. Sometimes he’d stretch his legs out on the console, or sit cross-legged, or with one ankle up on his knee. He never sat with both feet on the floor unless he was only posed there for a second.

Yet, for the first few hours of his shift today, he drank his raktajino and tried to sit in a chaste way, with his legs together and tucked to one side. He couldn’t manage that position for more than about forty seconds, so crossed and uncrossed his legs over the knee, leaning to one side and then the other – until he realised it looked like he was squirming for the bathroom, so did his utmost to remain still.

He expended more mental and physical energy trying to sit like an average person than he spent doing his job. In the end he gave up and tossed his heels up on the computer panel, not caring if one of the nurses saw up his skirt. If how he was dressed made them uncomfortable then that was their problem, not his.

He sat like that for a while, then got up and rushed around between testing stations.

Standing up and dealing with the skant was a whole new problem, but he realised after trying to pull the skant down and bend over a workstation at the same time that he either needed an extra hand or needed to give up on modesty.

So he gave up on modesty.

He spent the morning kneeling to attend to a toddler with a swollen ear, then standing with his legs twined all the way down to treat an old Vulcan lady who perched on a patient bed, and then rejecting embarrassment by force just so he could sit cross-legged at his monitor and not get a leg cramp.

Nobody said a damn thing.

And, indeed, it was very easy to use the bathroom. He did everything one-handed just to prove it. (He washed both hands, though.)

Julian was leaning back in his wheely chair with his legs open and heels on the console when his combadge chirped, “ _Garak to Bashir._ ”

Julian tapped his badge. “Hallo.” He smile grew, and he let his hands slide down his inner thighs to rest over his crotch, wrists balanced on stretched fabric. “Lunchtime, is it?”

“ _I hope you won’t find this too saccharine, Doctor, but in order to facilitate the full experience of scone-biscuit testing, I’ve prepared us a... I suppose, a picnic._ ”

“A picnic!” Julian beamed. “Ohh, Garaaak...”

“ _Please, don’t get excited until you see it. It’s hardly comparable to the picturesque feasts from those illustrated children’s books of yours._ ”

“Hmmm, but it is a lovely thought...”

“ _Are you available to meet me now?_ ”

“Mm-hm! Yes. Hang on.” Julian programmed the computer to keep working as he left it, then pushed his wheely chair away, lowering both boots to the carpet. “Where are we eating? Can’t exactly take a picnic to the Replimat.”

“ _It’s likely we’ll appear a pair of madmen, but might I suggest the Promenade? We could watch people come and go, as we both so love to do._ ”

Julian’s heart fluttered for a myriad of reasons. “Oh... Um...” He swallowed. He’d spent the morning working up the confidence not to care about how he was dressed in his own work environment, but being out in public would feel very different. “Could we eat somewhere more – private?”

“ _Private...?_ ” Garak seemed stunned. “ _Oh. Oh, I... I see._ ” A pause, a huff of breath. “ _Yes. Yes, Doctor. We can... we can dine in private. If that’s what you— Of course. Of course. I’d like that._ ”

Julian wondered if there’d been something significant about his request, enough to fluster a man who never flustered.

“ _My quarters?_ ” Garak asked in a soft voice.

Julian’s body sang with delight, but he hurriedly shook his head. “Oh, but then it’s not a _picnic_! It has to be _sort_ -of in public. Just... somewhere people won’t come looking.”

Garak chuckled. “ _Perhaps a cargo bay._ ”

Julian’s brows pinched together. “Now, that’s a bit uninspiring, isn’t it? Surely there are better places to—” He realised something, and his expression and soul unknotted. “You’re teasing me.”

“ _I am indeed. Where would you suggest we lay out our blanket and break bread, Doctor? If private quarters are too intimate for you._ ”

Intimate...

Julian blushed, and palmed his hot cheeks to soothe their burn. He wondered if Garak thought he wanted a date. His core ignited at the mere idea.

Oh, God... Maybe Julian _did_ want a date.

Yeah, he did.

Obviously he did!

Garak must’ve wanted one too or he wouldn’t have suggested his quarters.

“Th—” Julian swallowed, throat tight. “There’s this... place. It’s a turning off the Promenade, a Science Officers’ space observation deck. Big, um... Big window. Tall ceiling. Looking out at the stars. It’s off-limits to non-Starfleet personnel. But people sneak in all the time to, ah...”

Couple. The word was ‘couple’.

“... hang out.”

“ _I see. And why have I never heard of this deck?_ ”

Garak had heard of it, Julian knew he had. They’d talked about it. It was commonly known as Suitor’s Skylight: essentially the DS9 equivalent of Lover’s Lane.

“Well, I don’t know, really,” Julian said casually. “As a spy I’d really expect you to pay more attention to your surroundings. But meet me on the quiet side of Quark’s second level. It’s near there.”

“ _Five minutes?_ ”

“Yep. I’m on my way. Bashir out.”

The line went quiet, and Julian smiled. He linked his fingers behind his neck and tensed up all over, overcome with excitement. His happy squeak rose in pitch until it went silent. And then he relaxed, and let himself breathe easy.

What a shame that he’d show up for his first date with Garak dressed like _this_.

But it couldn’t be helped. Five minutes didn’t give him enough time to rush to his quarters and change. So this would be what he’d wear.

  
★  


Suitor’s Skylight was a deep, unlit alcove the size of a two-storey house, found through an unimpeded walkway off the Upper Promenade. It was carpeted in dark grey, and its walls blinked with control lights in various colours all the way to the pipe-tangled ceiling. There were balconies up there, in a ring around the room, in order for officers to access the higher controls.

The main feature, and the only significant source of light, was the truly humongous window that made up the entire far wall. Through it, there shone the glitter of galaxies and the sparkle of stars, all strewn across black and blue and dark purple like sequins on a tailor’s desk.

Julian approached, held enraptured by the sight. Standing at the base of the window was a prim, wide-shouldered silhouette, his energy composed. His hands were together behind his back, and his hair was tucked into a tidy black bob, tapered at the nape of his neck. Spread out behind his feet was a thick black blanket – even from a distance it was obviously fur – and upon it was a basket with a handle.

Julian nibbled his lip and slowed down to tug his skirt down, then resumed his approach.

“Garak?”

“Hm!” Garak didn’t turn. “I apologise, Doctor; I followed your directions and discovered the place for myself. I thought I’d save us both some time and set up. It really is remarkable, isn’t it?” He sounded pleased. “It astonishes me that the universe is so great and so expansive and so – _beautiful_ , and here we are, mere mortals at the beck and call of biological demands. We want so many frivolous things, do we not, but at the end of it all, what are we but vessels evolved to further our species, our goals, our values? For a man to befriend a young woman is to befriend all of one’s future. The future of oneself, _and_ of one’s species. But... to finally convince her of a firm no, and for the same man to instead... want... another...”

Garak finally blinked, distracted from his soliloquy by Julian’s presence on his left. Their eyes met; Garak gazed back, vulnerable.

“Much in the universe is unexplainable,” Garak told him, holding his eyes. “I’m glad... that you wish to be one more of its endless mysteries right alongside me.”

Julian caught himself smirking, and let the smirk grow higher up one cheek. “I showed up here thinking there was a chance you were a Changeling.”

Garak chuckled, eyes sparkling with reflected starlight. “And? By your informing me of such a fact I assume you’ve made up your mind that I’m not.”

“I don’t think any Changeling could figure _you_ out well enough to spout that _level_ of bullshit just to inform me you finally had a decent chat with Ziyal.”

Garak looked mighty affronted for a moment, then melted into a fond smile. “Ohhh, my dear Doctor. I’m so _glad_ to have you back.”

Julian ducked his head, smiling. “Y... Yes, well, I... Hm.” He hugged himself, abashed but glowing with pleasure. “Glad to _be_ back. Thanks to you, I am.” He lifted his shoulders in a tense shrug. “So Ziyal’s... _clear_ on your definitely-a-friendship status, now, is she?”

“Completely.” Garak nodded and looked back out of the window. “Once I found the right words it all seemed to come out as a gentle discussion rather than an outright rejection. It seems her growing up without Cardassian input has lent her a great deal in the way of empathy. _Dear_ thing. I can’t say she’s not upset... but she does understand.”

Julian dared not ask whether Garak had simply told her he wasn’t interested in a romance with her, or added that he harboured long-standing feelings for a certain Federation doctor. Such confessions would’ve been hard enough for Garak to express the first time, and to make him repeat them at point-blank would only be cruel. Julian would need to coax it out of him.

So he took a sip of breath and asked, “D— Do you want to eat?”

Garak gazed at him with unrestrained affection. “You needn’t ask.”

Julian turned away, looking properly at the picnic spread. Before he could comment he heard a shaken gasp behind him and turned back – and his lips parted when he saw Garak’s expression. His eyes had widened and his mouth hung a little open, his gaze tracking Julian’s.

“Your... outfit,” Garak said.

“Oh. Yes.” Julian glanced down, and grimaced as he tugged down the hem. “Bit skimpy, isn’t it? Sorry. Didn’t, uhm. Didn’t really have anything else to wear today, because _someone_ needed a well-earned _rest_.”

“Doctor, had I known this would be the tone of today’s luncheon, I’d have worn a lower collar for the occasion...” Garak started to grin. He leaned forward secretively, and his voice came out smooth and hungry as he asked, “Did you steal that from my shop, by chance?”

“Steal it?” Julian recoiled. “For goodness’ sake, Garak, I’m not a thief.”

“Where else did you come by it, then?”

“That’s none of your business. You don’t own the monopoly on apparel on the station, you know. For all you know, I borrowed it from Jadzia. Or maybe I just had it lying around.”

“Doctor, I made it a month ago, and I recognise it.”

“Well, that still doesn’t make me a thief.”

“I hope you realise your lies are painfully transparent, my dear,” Garak said. He gestured to the picnic blanket. “Please, get comfortable. And tell me, if you will: for what reason did you decide to purloin one of my creations?”

“I didn’t _steal_ it.”

“Oh, you borrowed it, did you?”

“Exactly.” Julian dropped to his knees on the blanket at gracefully as possible without exposing his rear, and then sat facing the window, both legs tucked to one side. “I always intended to either give it back or pay for it.”

“Ah.” Garak knelt beside Julian, and watched him cram a patterned pillow against his other hip. “I can understand that.”

Comforted by Garak’s understanding, Julian considered opening up.

“Well, _look_ , if you must know, I—” Julian flushed, “I-I-I just...”

“Go on, Doctor,” Garak said, prying up the lid of the wicker basket and pulling out two black plates.

“I just... wanted to try it on,” Julian mumbled, rolling a shoulder. “I’d never worn a skant before. And then I had to wear _something_ today... I know it’s not a good look on me, you don’t need to tell me.”

“Oh, not at all! It is remarkably flattering on you,” Garak said. “Perhaps it could be taken in around the hips to better hug your figure, but I have no real criticism for the sight of you in something so... hmm...” Garak gave Julian a long, considering look, and Julian caught fire, never having expected that Garak would look at him like that so _brazenly_. “Sssssse _duct_ ive.”

God, that _hiss_.

Julian didn’t know what to feel but he felt everything a lot.

“O— Oh.”

Garak handed Julian a plate with a scone on it, still hot: a warming element bled waves of heat from inside the basket, a heat that barely vanished as Garak shut the lid, since heat rolled off him just as fervently.

Julian held his plate and stared at his friend. “W... Wait, do you really think it looks good? The skant?”

“My _dear_ Doctor...” Garak looked pained for a moment. “Do you think it doesn’t?”

Julian’s mouth twitched around unfinished thoughts. “Well, I... I sort of thought it did. But then nobody said anything and I wasn’t so sure.”

“Either those who’ve crossed your path have been blind, or blind _ed_ by the sight of you,” Garak said, as earnestly as he’d ever said anything. “But – oh, I’m making you blush; do forgive me.”

“Oh, no, I—” Julian kept on blushing, head down. “No, I’m only— Thank you, I suppose. Thank you for... saying so.”

“Would you like your topping now?”

Julian’s inhale came in hot and shuddering, and he looked at Garak in want, only to chill when he realised Garak was holding out cream and butter for him to choose. Julian had heard something very, very... not about that.

He gulped. “Oh. Yes. _Toppings_. Okay.”

“Which?”

Julian held out his scone. “You choose.”

His hands shook as he held the plate, as Garak put down the cream and the butter, and instead took up the moba jam in a small jar, and began spreading it with the back of a spoon.

“Jam’s not supposed to go on first,” Julian said quietly, aware he was about to invite an argument.

“You’re sorely mistaken,” Garak said. “The jam provides a flat base for the cream.”

“Even if we do limit the experiment to a jam-cream combo rather than adding butter to the mix, you’re still wrong. You put the cream on and then put the jam on.”

“And how do you imagine you’d get an even spread that way?” Garak plopped on a big chunk of whipped cream, and spread it in swirls until it flattened a bit. “You’d take one bite and it’s all cream, then another and it’s all jam.”

“And how is this any better?” Julian put the second half of his scone atop the jam and cream, and pressed down gently. The cream oozed out from the sides and fell to the plate. “One bite and _this_ happens.”

“Correct! If one bites like an untamed animal.” Garak lifted the jam, about to prepare his own scone the same way, but Julian snatched the jam from him and set it aside.

Instead Julian took the whipped cream and pasted it onto Garak’s still-warm scone, all the while watching it sink into the soft white dessert and turn two millimetres of its fluffy surface to mush. Garak grunted in discomfort, but Julian then took the jam and spread it on the scone’s _other_ half.

Garak made a strangled noise. “How is that any different to what I did? You’ve merely done it upside-down.”

“Is that not what either of us were ever doing?” Julian asked, shuffling his bare legs closer, then stretching them out towards the window. “Look, just eat it, will you?”

“I will, but not happily,” Garak said, taking his plate and putting it on his lap. He tucked a napkin into the collar of his thick red tunic, then lifted his plate to his chin and took a careful bite of his jammy, creamy scone.

Julian bit into his own, making a _point_ of using the near-empty scone to swipe up the contents which smeared his plate.

“You wouldn’t have had that problem if you hadn’t _pressed_ your biscuit like some kind of _button_ ,” Garak remarked.

“It’s not a _biscuit_ , it’s a _scone_.”

“Try and convince young Jake Sisko of that, Doctor. Or any of the Terrans you refer to as ‘American’.”

“Hnh.” Julian carried on scooping sweetness into his mouth, then sucked his thumb clean of jam once the scone was gone.

Garak watched him.

Julian’s eyes went to the basket. “Any more scones?”

“You mean biscuits? Plenty.”

“Let’s have one, then.” Julian poked his empty plate across the blanket, then uncrooked his legs before they threatened to get bored.

“There’s savoury ones as... well...” Garak reached as if he were about to open the basket, and Julian waited, but Garak’s hand merely came to rest on the lid, all of his attention set dazedly on Julian’s thighs.

Garak blinked slowly a few times, and his lips parted as a soft look of longing crossed his features.

Julian shifted in place, stretching his legs out completely so Garak could look more, if he really wanted to look. Julian quite liked being ogled like this, especially by _him_.

Garak’s breath only shuddered, and his eyes lingered, drinking in the sight of Julian’s elegant brown limbs squirming together from top to toe. Julian could barely keep still now he was getting excited.

Garak had clearly forgotten about the scones at this point. He’d forgotten about everything.

Including his manners.

So Julian responded by throwing out his own, too. This was no longer a picnic; it was a game of chicken. How long could Garak wait before acknowledging his desire? How hard would it be for him to keep himself controlled?

Julian lay down, slowly, sighing as he did; he arched over a pillow, then tugged it out from under him and pushed it away, letting that long arm stretch... up...

The blanket was plush and warm under him, but the warmth it provided his back was naught compared to the fever ignited by Garak’s lustful eyes. Hot; cold; Julian burned and chilled in waves of self-awareness and anticipation.

Julian watched Garak stare, watched his head tilt to better admire Julian’s long figure.

Eventually, Garak seemed to come to his senses, but only enough that his eyes drifted from Julian’s legs to his belly, to the lifted base of his ribcage pushing up under the skant’s fabric, then... at last... to his eyes.

Julian saw the _thirst_ in Garak’s gaze and came alive with electricity, jitters in his heart, sparks in his stomach, lightning storms between his legs. He heard his own breath shiver over his tongue, felt it burn past his blood-plumped lips.

“Dohht’rr—” Garak almost choked when he heard how corrupted his voice had become: deep yet breathy. He paused to compose himself. He couldn’t clear away his blush, but his voice was steadier when he said, carefully, “Doctor. Are you. _Aware_ of how you’re—”

Julian quirked an eyebrow and smirked, touching his temple to his lifted bicep. He was unwilling to save Garak the pain of speaking his concerns aloud. Perhaps Julian was in a wicked mood, but watching Garak fumble with lust right in front of him and fight to speak was just delicious, it really was.

Garak gulped twice, eyes rising to the balconies overhead, perhaps praying for salvation. But he soon returned his gaze to Julian, eyes rounded with vulnerability and desperation.

“Tell me... Doctor... H-How aware of Cardassian courting rituals are you, really? You come here dressed in a stolen skant... Do you know... how badly y-h-h-ou’re... _Aaauh_ , how you _tempt_ me, Juli _aan_! I—” Garak shut his eyes again, tortured by his discomposure. He’d actually _moaned_. Once a wanton noise; once Julian’s name...

There was enough openness in him now that showing this side of him was a secret revealed by itself.

Julian inhaled slowly and deeply, stroking his fingers through his fluffy hair. “I know more than most people, I think,” he said, intrigued that the words didn’t settle Garak’s nerves at all. “I don’t know everything.”

He sat up part-way and reached out to scoot away the empty plates, then pushed the picnic basket so there was nothing between his body and Garak’s. Then he reached up and took Garak’s ridged chin, turning it so they could make eye contact.

Garak’s eyes glazed with tears, shamed and helpless in the thrall of love.

Julian smiled back, adoration crinkling his eyes and warming his heart. “What does it mean if I steal from you, Garak?”

Garak’s breath shuddered around his words: “Thievery alone is merely an impolite thing to practise on one’s friends.” He tried to temper his tone with his usual flippancy, but then a deeper voice overtook, and the darkness in his eyes became all-engulfing. “To flaunt your _prize_ in my _presence_ , however...”

Julian tilted his head, teasing. He hoped Garak’s sentence would end the way he imagined.

“It’s a clear invitation, a mockery; a demonstration of – dominance,” Garak said. “The fact the stolen item reveals sssssso much of your form, in addition... could seem rather telling of your... intentions.”

Julian licked his lips wet, and only realised he did so once he’d done it. “What intentions?”

“Must you ask? You’re a clever man, Doctor; surely you can assume.”

“I can’t assume. Assuming things has gotten me into a lot of trouble around here. Tell me. Tell me what it means if I wear a stolen skant right in front of you.”

Garak swallowed, and kept swallowing. “It— Ssssexual. Sexual. Surely it’s obvious, Doctor. You’re exposing yourself in ways that allow – _access_...”

Julian cooed, grinning into his bitten lip.

“Not to mention that this ‘private’ place you’ve invited me to is, if I’m not mistaken, a popular locality for adventurous lovers.” Suddenly Garak averted his gaze, frowning. “However, I realise it was wholly unintentional,” Garak said. “So now I know you’re aware, I will not press the matter—”

“No!” Julian reached out and touched fingertips to Garak’s chest. “No; you’re right; most of it wasn’t intentional. But...”

The ‘but’ summoned Garak’s hungry eyes back.

“But.” Julian lay down again, keeping his fingers in contact with Garak, touch sliding down to his knee. “Everything else was.” He swallowed. “My dear Mister Garak... I suggest you _do_ press the matter. Press it like a scone.”

Garak chuckled, head and eyes lowering in apparent shyness. Goodness, what a tender creature he was once his walls came down.

“I—” Garak’s hands curled into fists on his folded thighs, then unclenched so he could wipe his palms on the dark red fabric. He laughed quietly. “I appreciate your attempts at undoing me, Doctor. I assure you, it’s quite the thrill to be at your mercy! And I do believe there’s a great deal of hope for you, yet.”

He offered a plain and simple smile, and reached for the basket—

Julian caught his hand and stopped him.

They held hands and stared at one another for a number of seconds. Garak’s mask very quickly shattered again and he was left nearly panting for breath; all while Julian’s body and soul raged with want, blazing with colour and pulsating with urges he wasn’t yet permitted to act on.

He waited.

He waited for Garak to give in to himself, give in to Julian.

That time was coming.

Any moment now.

“Special occasions,” Julian whispered past slightly swollen lips, “should be celebrated... when the chance presents itself. Wasn’t that what you told me last night?”

The terrified Garak looked more deeply into his eyes. Julian watched a padlock come undone within him. “I believe it is.”

“Isn’t this special?” Julian asked, shrugging to indicate the empty observation deck, the grand majesty of the view, and the intimacy of two men together on a soft blanket, hand in hand and wanting.

Garak inched closer, thinking about leaning in.

“The chance...” Julian set his free hand on his pokey hip and ruffled the skant’s wrinkles, tugging up the hem by a fraction of a centimetre. Then he parted his legs and spread them, not unsubtly. “Presents itself...?”

Garak’s breath escaped him. The last chain holding him back was no chain at all, but a ribbon untied.

Garak moaned and fell close to Julian, clutching his cheek in a hot hand, stroking it while he gazed down in awe, shaking his head. Julian vocalised softly, eyes searching Garak’s as smiles danced one after another across his lips.

Garak smooched him, hard and fast and then it was over, but, oh—

Oh, it had only just begun. Julian felt a hand on his thigh, skin on skin.

“Oh, God,” Julian whispered. His attention flicked between Garak’s blue eyes, enjoying how he didn’t look away. “Garak, a-a-are you going to touch me?”

Garak’s smile crinkled around his eyes, and a deep rumble came from within his throat, or perhaps his chest. “That is what you’ve invited me to do. Was I wrong?”

Julian shook his head, and opened up his legs completely. “You’re not wrong.”

And with that he shut his eyes and gasped, back arching, as Garak’s hand moved from mid-thigh to inner thigh, then into the intimate heat of darker places. He slipped his hand up Julian’s skirt. Held his crotch, felt his shape.

“Ouh-h’a—” Julian’s hand moved to hold Garak’s steadying arm, which held him up as he explored Julian’s underside. “Hmh. Ah—”

Garak fiddled with the skant’s hem, pushing it up just enough so he could fondle Julian’s erection, stroking it through the material of his underwear.

Garak moved his head to look, and Julian felt nothing but flame as sparkly eyes took in the sight of him filling out his underwear completely. Garak looked somewhat studious, but once he lay down beside Julian with his torso propped up on an elbow, he was amused, entertained, interested.

“Tell me,” Garak said, rubbing Julian through the cloth. He leaned close and murmured into Julian’s waiting ear, “Hhh _how_ should I service you?”

Julian whimpered and clutched at handfuls of blanket, shaking where he lay. “W-What y-you’re doing is just fine! Just fine. Just fuhhhh oh God, your _fingers_...”

Realising that Julian enjoyed being rubbed, Garak chuckled, and without warning pulled down Julian’s underwear by a few centimetres.

“Ah!” Julian tilted his head back to check for other people, but nobody was there. He could see distant figures passing by on the Promenade, but no-one looked.

Garak tucked his hand into the stretchy material and began to stroke Julian’s perineum.

Okay, Julian thought. The skant was definitely sexy.

And he had the Changeling beat on one thing: the _real_ Julian had been the one to win over Garak.

“Mmm! Hmm. Hh— Hah.” Julian, now with his face flushed and sweating a little, clutched at Garak’s tunic in one fist and held his skant’s hem up with the other, eyes shut, just trying to remember to breathe. “Oh. Oh, Garak, you’re— _Ho_!”

Garak rumbled, and hissed, and at one point the sounds combined and sounded somewhat like a purr, dark and desirous against Julian’s neck. “How am I doing, Doctor?”

Julian flashed a tipsy grin, then giggled as Garak started to work his erection in his fingertips. “Good. Really-really good. Ah! Oh my God.” He arched his back again and began to hump into Garak’s touch, only moving his hips. 

“Mmm.” Garak started to kiss Julian’s neck. “I’m suddenly... very glad...” a softer kiss, a little suck, “that I didn’t finish your uniform last night.”

Julian chuckled, breathing without any rhythm. He’d shiver and then gasp and then squirm, feeling thick-fingered Cardassian touches nimbly tracing his private parts, examining him and indulging curiosity in such a casual, unfocused kind of way.

Garak didn’t seem to be trying to drive Julian straight to climax, but he clearly had no idea how sensational it was to have _this man_ , right _here_ , doing such terribly naughty things. Just the fact Garak hadn’t even _bothered_ to pull Julian’s underwear down any more than he needed to to slip a hand inside – that was maddening.

And now his lips had found that nice spot behind Julian’s ear that made him go crazy.

“ _Garak_ ,” Julian rasped, disgraced beyond belief. He trembled where he lay, still titillated by the hand between his legs. He wrapped an arm around Garak’s shoulders and grasped and then clawed at his back, bringing him in—

Their noses bumped, and Julian laughed when Garak seemed surprised.

Julian tugged him close again, and they kissed...

Garak seemed uncertain about it at first – maybe kissing wasn’t part of Cardassian dominance rituals, or maybe he just never expected to get this far – but as Julian moaned right into his mouth, and scrunched Garak’s perfect hair into a ruffled mess with both hands, and then began to smooch and lick and nibble at Garak’s lips, Garak relaxed. He surged into the kiss and moaned too, rocking with intermittent pressure, nuzzling whenever he came up for air.

By now Julian’s mouth was sore and his breaths were all humid. Garak’s lips hung open over him, and he barely paused before taking another soft bite from his treat.

“Garak,” Julian whispered. He tried to meet his dear friend’s gaze, vision all blurry and sparkling with stars. “Garak, I th-think I’m going to come.”

“Are you not certain?” Garak teased, head tilted. Suddenly all the stars were in his eyes and the universe didn’t exist anywhere beyond. “Surely you know the feeling.”

“I— I’m just— J-Just warning you-hh hhh mmmmm...”

Julian’s lashes fluttered and he squirmed and squirmed, holding tight to Garak’s erect neck ridges, holding tight to his gaze.

“Now?” Garak asked, softly.

Julian shook his head.

Garak kept touching.

“What about now, my dear?” Garak asked.

“No-Not yet but— But. Oh God. Oh, God, Garak, _now_. Now. No _uhh_ —”

Garak did something very confusing and very unexpected: he tucked Julian back into his underwear and covered him up with the skant right as he came.

The sensation to Julian was _bristly_ and wet and not anywhere near as pleasant as it might’ve been to come into Garak’s smooth and firm-fingered hand. And yet his eyes couldn’t leave Garak’s as the pulses peaked, nor as they faded.

He was left simply brimming with gratitude.

Stranger still: the moment Julian relaxed and closed his eyes, Garak pulled his clothes down again to look at the result.

“Garak...” Julian’s voice joked, while his frown asked questions.

“It wouldn’t do to make a mess, Doctor,” Garak informed him as casually as he might explain the use of a table napkin. “We are at _lunch_ , after all.”

Julian, too exhausted to comprehend this, just lay still and rested as Garak tidied up his bottom half and then lay down beside him once again.

Once he had some energy back, Julian rolled onto his side to face Garak, using the back of a fist as a pillow.

Garak gazed back, beaming. His hair was a wreck now, and he had an affectionate expression on his face that Julian had seen many a time over the years, but now it shone unrestrained: glossy-eyed, a slight smile, completely comfortable. A soft look. Sweetness and nothing else.

“Thank you, Julian,” Garak said, almost a whisper. “I’m... truly honoured.”

“Hmm.” Julian smiled into a fresh and very lovely kiss. “Honour’s all mine,” he murmured, as Garak stole another breath away between hot, hot lips.

Feeling brave – take _that_ , Changeling! – Julian wriggled a tiny bit closer, and... gently... snuck a hand under Garak’s tunic and pushed two fingers between the tops of his legs.

Garak opened his mouth wide to gasp, and tensed up, hands stabilising himself on the blanket and against Julian’s hip. He looked down in astonishment as Julian rubbed at him the way he might for a lady – and to Julian’s surprise, there was a similarity: Garak was wet. Whatever fluid caused by his arousal had bled through his trousers and made them slick, slick enough that finger pressure let him map the shape of Garak’s soft opening... But it wasn’t all soft. Something distinctly stiff began to poke at his hand.

Julian gave Garak a hopeful look. “May I?”

Garak, obviously dumbfounded – okay, this _definitely_ wasn’t how Cardassians did things – tried to shake his head, but was nodding only a moment later. “Please. Please, yes. Yes.” He watched Julian’s eyes, still stunned at this turn of events.

Julian lifted his wet hand and began to scroll up Garak’s tunic. Once he’d exposed the glossy mess between Garak’s uppermost thighs – gosh, he’d really smeared it, hadn’t he – he fumbled around to find the clasp of the trousers, and they popped open frontways, revealing a grey, scaly tummy, and a line of ridges leading down...

Julian didn’t try and look, he just tucked his fingertips inside and stroked downwards.

Garak shut his eyes tight, mouth open wide. A strained wisp of breath flowed from him— How _hard_ was he trying not to groan aloud? He tensed and relaxed around Julian’s fingers, cloaca clenching and unclenching wetly and hotly and squishily around a single digit.

His newly-everted erection fit nicely in Julian’s palm, and there it rubbed as Julian worked him through any number of shaky vocal exclamations. Garak held on to both of Julian’s shoulders, lying before him in utter helplessness, mostly still but often spasming or convulsing in reaction to a particularly good stroke.

Julian murmured, “Ohh, aren’t you _gorgeous_ ,” more as an observation about Garak than directed _at_ him, but Garak managed to open his shiny, shiny eyes, and looked at Julian in wonderment. That expression remained and didn’t change.

Julian had been so bothered by one morning without a compliment on his new outfit. And here was Garak, who showed up in something new every other week. Julian had never said anything to him because, well, it was _normal_ to see Garak in something new, and each item was not so different from the last.

But what if all this time, Garak had just wanted someone to look...?

Wanted someone to notice.

Wanted someone to say something.

Julian wondered if anyone had _ever_ said he looked nice.

“You’re beautiful,” Julian whispered to him. He provided a kiss for Garak’s central nose ridge. “Always, Garak. Always.”

Garak whimpered. “Ohh... You’re – too kind, m-my dear...”

“Mmh, I know,” Julian promised, kissing his cheek, then his jaw, then his ear, all the while shifting his fingers deeper into Garak’s slick little space. “But I can be awfully rude, too. I’m not _me_ unless I’m a bit rough around the edges, don’t you think?”

Garak chuckled, then gripped Julian tight and flew into a gasping, shivery tension—

He came around Julian’s fingers; Julian felt six, seven, eight, then nine thrusting, involuntary waves of movement. And he felt stickiness seeping down his wrist...

He glanced down for just long enough to retrieve his hand, then looked back at Garak, eager to watch him recover and start to relax.

Although it offended Garak greatly, Julian used the blue napkin that had earlier been tucked into Garak’s collar to clean his hand and wrist up.

Garak rolled his eyes and slumped onto his back, his smile lazy and his muscles unbound. His pants were still pulled down, so Julian sat up beside him and did them up, then tugged his tunic down straight for him.

Wearing a giant, wobbly grin, Julian laughed and threw himself down beside Garak, gazing up at the ceiling too. Soon they both looked to the stars, and drew in huge breaths at the same time.

Julian laughed again, and turned his head to see Garak.

Garak’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he looked back.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Julian asked forthrightly.

Garak raised his eyeridges. “I’m curious... Do Humans truly reciprocate with their submissive partners? Or is it only you?”

Julian’s eyes widened. “Do you mean to say your partner _never_ gets you off?”

Garak took that response as his answer, and seemed ever more astonished. “Doctor... Ah. Hm.” He rounded his lips and blew out a surprised breath. “I knew I was lucky to have won your affections but I didn’t realise exactly how lucky until now...”

Julian chuckled, reaching to stroke Garak’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I was never trying to dominate you, Garak. I mean, unless you _really_ like that... maybe sometimes we could... swap?”

Garak melted into the touch, taking Julian’s hand and kissing it over and over, nosing his palm and groaning, “Oh-h-h, my dear... Mmm, my _deaaar_...”

Julian was taking that as a vehement yes.

“Verdict,” Julian said, with a silly smile, “is that you’re right: sweet jam first. Then I think the _cream_ is inevitable.”

Garak snorted into Julian’s hand and let it go with one last kiss. He kept on gazing at Julian, smoky eyes half-hooded in resentful amusement.

“I suspect we might need to enjoy the rest of our luncheon in my quarters after all,” Garak said. “Not least because we both require a change of clothes.”

“Got anything at home to fit me?”

Garak’s eyes lit up. He hiss-purred in delight.

Julian was also taking _that_ as a yes.

They sat up slowly, getting their bearings.

Reality gradually returned, bringing with it the distant bustling of the Upper Promenade, the occasional bleep from nearby computers, and the hum of the station turning away below them.

They caught each other’s eyes, and shared an embarrassed but happy laugh. They were still beaming once they’d helped each other to their feet.

Julian had to put a hand up his own skirt to adjust himself, and Garak marched around awkwardly until he felt more comfortable, but eventually they stood together again, took each other’s hands, and snuggled into a fond embrace, noses to cheeks and hands on waists.

“Garak,” Julian said, “I know... things are different now. Between us.”

“Hm!” Garak sounded especially pleased, and put another kiss on Julian’s neck.

“And you’ve been incredibly honest with me... about everything, really.”

“Don’t take it personally.”

“Aww, but I do.” Julian smiled and pulled back to meet Garak’s eyes. “I know it’s – it’s not just difficult, but it’s nearly against your _nature_ to be this open with anyone. This vulnerable...”

Garak tried to look away but Julian caught his cheek and pulled him back.

“There’s something I want to be honest about as well,” Julian said, as he started to shake from the core outwards. “Something I... I haven’t told you about... me. About my childhood. About my parents.”

Garak couldn’t have looked more intrigued if he’d tried.

Julian swallowed and looked down. “I haven’t told anyone, actually. I – I _can’t_ tell anyone. I shouldn’t tell. I especially shouldn't tell you.”

Garak ducked his head and leaned in, eye contact tender and unwavering. “I would take such a secret to my grave.”

“I know.” Julian smiled. A whisper, “I know you would, Elim.”

He snuck one more kiss, then turned away from the window. “I’m not telling you here, though. In your quarters.”

“Such a space isn’t too intimate for you?”

Julian grinned, looking back at Garak, who was ever-so-dashing as a silhouette in starlight. “I think intimate is exactly what I need.”

Garak nodded once. “Let’s call it a special occasion.”

Julian took the folded fur, while Garak took the basket. Their eyes met again as they straightened.

“I think every day should be a special occasion,” Julian said, “for you and me.”

Garak didn’t understand the true meaning of the suggestion at first, and was no doubt about to make some philosophical quip, but when he saw the earnestness and _hope_ in Julian’s eyes, his open mouth slimmed into a pleasant smile, and he hummed an agreeable note.

“Quite right, my dear Julian,” Garak said. He offered an elbow for Julian to take. “You’re quite, _quite_ right. For once, I have no arguments to make _what_ soever.”

Julian hugged Garak’s arm in his own, and they set off together. Julian walked while leaning into Garak, legs bare all the way up to his wet and sticky underwear.

People did stare this time.

Garak and Julian both looked a ruffle-haired, badly-dressed mess, and by hanging on each other’s arms and grinning as they left Suitor’s Skylight, they painted a fairly obvious picture of what they’d been doing there together.

And yet, by some miracle, they both remained completely unselfconscious.

**{ the end }**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this, space friends~!
> 
> [Here's the art post on tumblr~](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/626745359451996160/everyones-writing-skant-fics-and-i-made-one-too)
> 
> [More of my Garashir fics can be found here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Bfandom_ids%5D%5B%5D=8474&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi)
> 
> Elmie x


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